misease (willingly would I have eaten an I might), this is what
chanced: I saw in yonder chamber the selfsame shield which Bran de Lis
bare the day we did combat together; full well I remember it, and
there it hangeth on the wall. Fair lord king, an God help me 'tis no
lie; there in the shield standeth fast my pennon, and a great splinter
of my lance; by that token, Sire, Bran de Lis doth haunt this country,
since his shield be here. Therefore am I vexed and wrathful, and
therefore I arose from meat, since I feared to be taken at a loss; in
sooth, I somewhat fear him, for so good a knight I never saw! Sire,
now have I told ye the truth, and wherefore I have donned my helmet,
ye need press me no further, since not for the kingdom of Logres
would I be found unarmed in such place as he may be. Fair Sire, I pray
ye hasten, otherwise, an there be long abiding, I may chance to pay
over dear for my meat."
Quoth the king, "Fair nephew, sit ye down again, nor have fear of any
foe. He cometh not."
But Sir Gawain answered, "Sire, for naught that ye may say will I eat
in this hostel!"
"So be it," quoth the king, "an ye will do naught for my prayer." With
that all the others betook them to meat in good fellowship.
After no long time they beheld a little brachet, which ran out from a
side chamber and came into the hall. A long leash trailed behind it,
and round its neck was a collar of gold, wherein were many precious
stones, red, and green as ivy leaves. The brachet was white as snow,
and smoother than any ermine. I tell ye of a truth 'twas not ugly, but
very fair and well shapen, and the king gazed long at it. It barked
loudly at the knights on the daïs, and made small joy of them, I tell
ye. Then Kay the seneschal coveted it, and spake to the king, "Sire,
I will keep this brachet, and take it hence, an ye grant me this gift;
'twill be a comrade for Huden." And the king said, "Take it,
seneschal, and bear it hence."
With that the brachet turned tail, and Kay with no delay sprang up and
thought to seize it, but the dog would not await him, but fled on
through a chamber wrought in marble, and the leash which was long fell
about the feet of Kay, who would fain have caught it but might not
come at it. Might he set foot on the leash he could have held it, but
he failed to catch it.
Thus the chase went from chamber to chamber till five were passed, and
the seneschal came into a fair garden set with olive trees and pines,
wherein were more folk than in a city. They were playing at diverse
games, and making such joy and festivity as 'twere overlong to
recount, for that day they were keeping the feast of a saint of that
land.
Beneath the shade of a laurel in the midst of an orchard a knight was
disarming; tall he was and strong, valiant and proud, and to serve him
and honour him the best and most renowned of the folk stood and knelt
around waiting on his disarming. The brachet which Kay was chasing
stayed not till it came to the knight, and took shelter betwixt his
legs, barking loudly at the pursuer.
Kay stayed his steps, abashed at the sight and sound of this folk, and
thought to return swiftly, and with no delay; but the knight looked on
his people and said, "There is a stranger among us, whoever he may
be!" Then beholding Kay, who would turn him again whence he came, he
spake, "See him there, take him, and bring him hither!"
This they did swiftly, and brought Kay before him, and when the knight
beheld him he said joyfully, "Sir Kay, ye are right welcome as my
friend and comrade; where is the king, your master?"
"Sir, he is within, on the daïs, and with him many a valiant knight;
they are even now at meat!"
"And is the king's nephew, Gawain, there? Fain would I be assured
thereof." And Kay answered, "The best knight in the world is in the
king's company; without him would he go nowhither!"
Now when the knight heard this he was like to fly for joy. Half armed
as he was he sprang to his feet, and for very gladness stayed not to
finish his disarming. A rich mantle had they hung on his shoulders,
but the neck was yet unfastened, nor would he tarry to clasp it, for
haste and joy. And know that one leg was still shod with iron, which
hung downward, half unlaced, nor would he stay to rid himself thereof.
Thus he sped in all haste to the hall, and his folk after him, and
without slacking speed he ran into the hall, followed by so great a
crowd that the king was sore abashed when he heard the tumult.
The knight went forward even to the daïs, and saluted the king
courteously, and commanded the folk to bring torches, for 'twas scarce
light therein, and they did at his pleasures, and he bade bring other
meats, so that Arthur, the valiant and courteous, was well served as
befitting a king.
The knight was very joyous, and quoth, "Sire, now hath God done me
great honour, for never before might I do ye service; now am I right
glad and joyful that ye be lodged here! I have greeted ye in all fair
friendship without thought of ill, ye and this goodly company, save
one whom as yet I see not!"
With that there entered men bearing torches and tapers, so that the
hall, which before was dark and dim, became light and clear. The folk
who had come thither that they might look upon the king, of whom they
had oft heard tell, made such haste to see him that there was no space
to sit down, and all the palace was but a sea of heads.
The lord was sore vexed. He held in his hand a little round staff,
short and heavy, and being chafed with anger in that he saw not Sir
Gawain, and knew not where he might be, began laying about him to part
the crowd, making them by force to mount on the daïs, and sills of the
windows, and buttresses of the walls, since he might not drive them
from the hall.
When Sir Gawain saw that the folk was thus parted asunder, without
delaying he mounted him on his steed. Then first the lord of the
castle beheld him, and was sore vexed that he had not come upon him
disarmed. Scowling for very anger, he threw his staff aside, and when
he had somewhat bethought him he lifted his head, and gat him to Sir
Gawain, and laid hold of his bridle, saying, "Fair sir, hearken, are
ye ready to keep the covenant ye made with me? It vexeth me that ye
are so far quit that I have failed to find ye disarmed, as I fain had
done; I had better have been slain the day I made this compact, for
then, verily, ye too had died, had I not granted the respite, but now
I deem our battle shall last the longer!"
Sir Gawain straightway granted him his battle, and the knight bade
bring more torches, for the stars already shone forth. Then they
brought them in great plenty, and he told off folk to hold them by the
fist full, so that one might see far and near, as clearly as might be.
Then the lord of the castle seated himself in the midst of the hall,
on a great carpet, which a squire spread swiftly at his bidding, and
he bade them bring thither all that was needful to the rightful arming
of a knight desirous of battle rather than of aught beside. He donned
a greave of iron, and relaced that which hung loose; then he bade them
bring armpieces, and he laced them on his arms, and when he had done
this he came before the king and said, "Eat joyfully, and be not
dismayed; behold me, that I am strong and bold, hale and swift. Your
nephew on his part is even as I am; I know not if he hath told ye how
the matter be come to this point that the one of us must needs die ere
we be parted. 'Twere hard to think this morn that the one of us was so
nigh unto his end!"
Then the king's eyes filled with tears, and the knight, beholding,
spake in his pride: "Certes, Sire, I prize ye less than afore; ye are
but half-hearted who are thus compassionate for naught; by all the
Saints in the calendar, ye be like unto him who crieth out afore he be
hurt! Never before did I set eyes on a king who wept, and knew not
wherefore! By my faith, this cometh of a cowardly heart!"
He turned him again without further word, and armed him swiftly, and
did on his harness, and when he was armed he mounted his steed, and
bade bring a lance, stout and strong, with shining blade. Then he hung
his shield on his neck by a broidered band, and settled him well in
his saddle, and called unto Sir Gawain, and quoth, "Here in this
house is the lordship mine by right of heritage, yet would I do no
outrage nor take vantage thereof; the rather do I bid and conjure ye
to take that part of the hall which seemeth best; now look well where
ye will make your stand."
Sir Gawain hearkened, but stirred not, save that he drew somewhat
back, and lowered his lance, and his foe, on his part, did likewise. I
testify of a truth, and tell ye, that they rode over hard a joust, for
as they came together at their horses' full speed the one smote the
other so fiercely on the shield that both alike were split asunder, so
that the sharp blade passed right through, yet they harmed not the
hauberks which clung close and tight. Thus as they sped on the lances
bent and brake, yet the steeds stayed not, and the knights who
bestrode them were naught dismayed, but when they would have passed
each other in their course they came together with such weight of body
and shield, and full front of the horses, that they smote each other
to the ground, and all four fell on a heap, the good steeds undermost.
But the knights lightly sprang to their feet, and threw aside their
lances, and drew their good swords, and dealt each the other so
mighty a blow on the shining helm that it was well indented. The king
and they who looked on were sore anguished and afraid, but the twain,
'twixt whom there was such enmity, ran again on each other in such
fashion that, I tell ye and lie not, never was so fierce a mêlée of
two knights beheld. They made sparks to spring from the helmet and
smote the circlets asunder as those who make no feint to fight. When
the good swords smote the shields they made the splinters to fly
apace: so eager was each to put the other to the worse that they
ceased not nor slackened this the first assault till that both were
covered with blood. Then the heat which vexed them mightily made them
perforce draw asunder, to recover breath. Too heavy and too sore had
been their combat for those who loved them to behold; never day of his
life had King Arthur so feared for his nephew.
Now at the head of the master daïs was a door, opening into an inner
chamber, and, as the tale telleth, in a little space there came forth
a damosel, so fair of face and form that Christendom might not show
her peer. She was clad in fair and fitting fashion, in a vesture
richly broidered in gold, and had seen, perchance, some twenty
summers. She was so fair, so tall and gracious, that no woman born
might equal her, and all marvelled at her beauty.
She leant awhile on the head of the daïs, beholding the two knights,
who strove hard to slay each the other. They had returned to the
onslaught in such pride and wrath that verily I tell ye they might not
long endure. Such blows they dealt on helm and shield with their naked
blades that they made the splinters fly, and the crimson blood welled
from their wounds and streamed through the mail of their hauberk down
on to the pavement. Nor was the fight equal, for Sir Gawain had broken
the laces of his helm, so that 'twas no longer on his head, but lay on
the ground at his feet. Yet he covered himself full well with his
shield, as one who was no child in sword play. But his foeman pressed
him sore, and oft he smote him with hard and angry blows; Sir Gawain
defended himself right valiantly, but it went too ill with him in that
he had lost his helm, therefore as much as might be he held himself on
the defensive. But once, as he made attack, Bran de Lis smote him so
fierce and heavy a blow at his head that, but that it fell first on
the shield, it had then and there ended the matter, and all said that
without fail he had been a dead man. Bran de Lis spake wrathfully,
"Take this blow for mine uncle; ye shall have one anon for my father;
if I may, it shall be the last!"
Sir Gawain struck back, but he was sore hindered by the blood which
ran down into his eyes ('twas that which vexed him the most); he would
fain have drawn him back, but Bran de Lis left him no space, so
wrathfully did he run upon him, and Sir Gawain withstood him sturdily,
yet so hardly was he pressed that whether he would or no he must needs
yield ground.
Then the damosel of whom I spake but now turned her, and ran swiftly
into the inner chamber, and in a short space came forth with a little
child, whom she set upon the daïs. He wore a little coat of red
samite, furred with ermine, cut to his measure; and of his age no
fairer child might be seen. His face was oval and fair, his eyes
bright and laughing; he was marvellous tall and strong for his age,
which might not be more than four years; and by the richness of his
clothing 'twas clear that there were those who held him dear.
The knights who fought below still dealt each other such mighty blows
that all who beheld them had dole and wrath. I can tell ye each was
weak and weary enow, but verily Sir Gawain had yielded ground
somewhat, and would fain have wiped away the blood which ran adown his
face and into his eyes, but he might in no wise do so, since Bran de
Lis held him so close, doing what he might to slay or wound him.
Then without delay the damosel took her child, there where he stood
before her, and said very softly, "Fair little son, go quickly to
yonder tall knight, 'tis thine uncle, doubt it not, fall at his feet,
little son, and kiss them, and pray for God's sake the life of thy
father that he slay him not!"
Straightway she set him on the ground, and the child ran, and clasped
his uncle by the right leg, and kissed his foot, and said, "My mother
prays ye for the love of God, that ye slay not my father, fair sweet
uncle; she will die of grief an ye do!"
Great pity fell upon the king when he heard the child speak thus, and
all who hearkened and beheld were filled with wrath and anguish. All
had compassion on the child, save Bran de Lis alone, for he quoth in
wrath and anger, "Get thee hence, son of a light woman!" and he
withdrew his foot so swiftly from the child's clasp that, whether he
would or no, he fell, and smote face and forehead hard on the stone of
the pavement, so that he grazed mouth and face, and lay senseless and
bleeding on the floor.
Then King Arthur sprang from the daïs, and caught the child to him,
and kissed it twenty times on face and eyes and mouth, and wept for
very anger; nor for the blood on the child's face would he cease to
caress it, so great love had he towards it, for he thought of a truth
that he held again Gawain, whom he now counted for lost. He quoth,
"Sir Bran de Lis, this little child is very fair; never in your life
did ye do such villainy as to go near to slay so sweet a child, nor
ought ye to have denied the request he made, for he asked naught
outrageous. Nor will I have him slain, for he is my joy and my solace;
henceforward know well that for naught will I leave him in your care!"
Quoth Bran de Lis, "Sire, ye are less courteous than I had heard
tell, and ye make overmuch dole and plaint for the life of a single
knight; ye should not so be dismayed, this is naught but feebleness of
heart."
As Bran de Lis thus spake to the king Sir Gawain wiped off the blood
which ran down his face, and bound up his wounds, the while he had
respite; the king, who was wise enow, held his foeman the longer in
speech that his nephew might be the more refreshed, for the strength
and valour of that good knight doubled as midnight passed. For this
was the custom of Sir Gawain: when as ever midnight had struck his
strength was redoubled and he waxed in force even until noon.
Now so soon as his strength came again, and he saw the king, and his
love, and the great folk who beheld them, then a mighty shame overtook
him, and he ran in wrath on his foe, and assailed him straitly, but
the other yielded not, crying, "Honour to ye that ye thus seek me!"
Then might ye see them smite blows great and fierce, with the swords
they wielded, so that they were well nigh beaten down. Sir Bran de Lis
smote a mighty blow, thinking to catch Sir Gawain on the head, but
that good knight, who knew right well how to cover himself, held his
shield in such wise that the stroke fell upon it, and split it adown
the midst; so hard had he smitten that the blade entered even to the
hilt, and his body following the blow he bent him forwards, and ere he
might recover him Sir Gawain smote him full on the helm, so that the
laces brake, and it flew off adown the hall, leaving the head bare.
And ere Sir Bran de Lis was well aware he followed up the blow with
one above the ventaille so that he bled right freely. Now were they
again on a par, so that one might scarce tell the which of them had
the better. In great pride and wrath they ran each on the other, so
that in short space of time they had lost overmuch blood. Mightily
each strove to put his foe to the worse, and all who looked upon them
waxed strangely pitiful, and would fain have parted them asunder had
they dared.
Now might ye have seen that gentle knight, who full oft had made
offering of good deeds and alms, right well acquit himself, for so
sorely he vexed his foeman that he hacked his shield all to pieces,
and he might no longer hold his ground, but whether he would or no he
must yield place, and wavered backward adown the hall. Then he smote
him again, so that he tottered upon his feet, and Sir Gawain hasted,
and threw himself upon him with such weight of body and of shield that
he well nigh bare him to earth, so he drave him staggering adown the
hall till he fell against a daïs.
When the damosel saw this she tare her child from the king's arms, and
ran swiftly, and threw herself right valiantly betwixt the two, so
that she came nigh to be cut in pieces, and cried, "Son, pray thy
father that he have pity on thy mother, and stay his hand ere he slay
my brother, whom I love more than mine own life!" But the child spake
no word, but looked up at the glancing sword blades, and laughed
blithely. And all were moved to pity and wrath who saw him anon
bleeding and now laughing for very joy.
Then Sir Gawain, of right good will, drew himself aback, but he whom
he had thus hard pressed drave forward at him, like one reft of his
senses, and came nigh to doing him a mischief in that Sir Gawain was
off his guard. Then she who held the child sprang swiftly betwixt
them, and cried, "Now by God I will see the which of ye twain will
slay him, for he shall be cloven asunder ere that I take him hence."
The swords clashed together aloft, but wrought no ill, for neither
might come at the other for fear of the child whom they were loth to
harm, and for fear of her who held him. And the child laughed gaily at
the glancing swords, and stretched up his hands to his own shadow,
which he saw on the shining blade, and showed it with his finger to
his father when he saw it come anear, and had fain sprung up and
caught the blades, sharp though they might be. And many a man wept,
and there arose within the hall a great cry, as of one voice, "Good
lord king, stay the fight; we will all aid thee thereto, for no man
should longer suffer this!"
Then Arthur sprang up swiftly, and seized his sword and shield, and
came unto the twain, and parted them asunder, whether they would or
no, and said to the knight ye have heard me praise, "Sir, take the
amends offered, and I tell ye truly I will add thereto, for I myself
will do ye honour, and become your man, for the sake of peace." And
all cried with one voice, "Sir, by God and by the True Cross, ye shall
not refuse this, for the king has spoken as right valiant man." Then
the knight held his hand, hearing that which pleased him.
Thus was peace made, and the battle parted asunder, and Sir Bran de
Lis did right sagely, for he spake, "Sire, it were nor right nor
reason that ye should become my man, hence will I do ye true homage,
but for hostage will I ask the knights of the Round Table, who are the
most valiant in the world; also shall your nephew do other amends,
even as he promised me, in abbey and nuns, for the repose of my
father's soul, and ye shall free one hundred serfs with your own
hand." And the king answered, "Know of a truth that all shall be done
at my charges."
Then Bran de Lis did homage to the king, and kissed him in all good
faith, and then came forward Sir Gawain, and he humbled himself before
him, kneeling at his feet, and praying that he would pardon his ill
will; and Sir Gawain took him by the hand, and raised him up, and
quoth, "I pardon thee all, and henceforth will I be your friend in all
good faith and courage, nor will I fail ye for any harm ye may
aforetime have done me."
Both were sore faint and feeble, and void of strength by reason of the
blood they had lost, so that scarce might they stand on their feet
without falling to the ground. They bare them to an inner chamber;
never knight nor maiden entered within a fairer, for I tell of a truth
there was no good herb in Christendom with which it was not strewn.
'Twas richly garnished, and four great tapers, cunningly placed, gave
fitting light. Then leeches searched their wounds and said there was
no need for dismay, for neither was wounded to the death, and within
fifteen days both might well be healed, and all were joyful at the
tidings.
The king and his barons abode the fifteen days at the castle of Lys,
nor departed therefrom; in all the world was neither fish nor fowl,
fruit nor venison, of which the king might not each day eat in plenty
if he so willed. But he was loth to part from Sir Bran de Lis, by
reason of the good tales which he told concerning the folk of the
Castle Orguellous, whereat the king rejoiced greatly.
"Sire," quoth Bran de Lis, "I myself will go with ye, and we will take
with us squires and footmen. My pavilion is large and fair, and by
faith, we will carry that too along with us; and also a pack of
hounds, the best we may find, for there be thick forests all around,
where we may hunt at our will, and go a-shooting too, an it please us,
for we shall find great plenty of deer and other game."
Sir Gawain took little heed of all he said, so wholly was he taken up
with his lady, and she forgat him not, but was ever at his service, at
any hour that might please him; 'twas all gladness, and no ill
thought. Nor did Sir Gawain mislike his fair son, whom he caressed
right often. Fain would he have tarried long time with them. Nor
marvel at that, my masters, for he was there at ease, and he who hath
whatsoever he may desire doeth ill methinks to make over haste to
change, nor will he make plaint, since he suffereth nor pain nor ill.
But when the fifteen days came to an end, then did the king bid make
ready, for he had no mind to tarry longer; well I know 'twas a Tuesday
morn that they set them on their way, and with them went that good
knight, Sir Bran de Lis.
Castle Orguellous
For seven full days King Arthur and his men journeyed, and passed
through many a forest ere they came into the open land and saw before
their eyes the rich Castle Orguellous, the which they had greatly
desired to behold. They who had gone ahead had already pitched the
king's pavilion in a fair meadow nigh unto a grove of branching olive
trees, very fair and full of leaf. There the king, and they who were
with him, dismounted gladly; they might go no further, since 'twas
well known in the land that they came to make war on the castle.
They had made no long abiding when they heard a great bell toll--no
man had ever heard a greater--five leagues around might the sound be
heard, and all the earth trembled. Then the king asked of him who knew
the customs of the castle wherefore the bell tolled thus.
Quoth Bran de Lis, "Of a truth, 'tis that all the country round may
know that the castle is besieged, till that the bell be tolled nor
shield nor spear may be set on the walls, the towers, or battlements."
As he spake thus they saw to the right more than five thousand banners
wave from the walls, the towers, and donjon, and as many shields hung
forth from the battlements. Then they saw issue forth from the forest
on to the plain knights mounted on palfreys and war-horses, who made
their way by many roads to the castles; right gladly did the king and
his comrades behold them.
I will not devise unto ye all the fashion of the castle, I must needs
spend overmuch time thereon, but since the birth of Christ no man ever
saw one more fairly placed, nor richer, nor better garnished with tall
towers and donjon.
Now was meat made ready in the king's tent, and all sat them down to
supper in right merry mood; they said among themselves that enough
knights were entered into the castle to give work to each and all.
Thus they spake and made sport concerning those within.